Pain 2: Him (H.S)

Chapter 12

Harry's POV:

Five seconds; I'm giving myself five seconds to pull the trigger. If she doesn't come back into my head like she always does, I'm going to fucking do it. She's gone. Her voice, her image; it's all fucking gone and I can't see or hear her anymore. She isn't stopping me like she usually does, her small lips aren't quivering begging me to stop; she's not here anymore. I need to face the fact that I, the man who has turned against his own words and spat on his promises, don't deserve to live. I've held this gun far too many time to my head, tempting myself and even testing to see if I actually have the balls to do it, and of all those times, I know this is the final one.

I drew it all out. I wrote down our whole story page for page, mentally playing out each damn moment I caused her pretty heart to wrinkle from my touch and words. I count the times my betrayal made her cry, and five seconds seems too damn long.

She'll be happier without me. I know she will. Did you see her earlier? She looked as if a man had never hurt her; she has moved on. She'll find someone better, someone who knows how to treat her and though I envy the man who does, though I loathe the man who will have the exquisite honor of touching her and loving her, I'll let her go. I'll let her live the proper life she's been wanting and so desperately needing but not receiving because of my constant fuck ups. She deserves to smile, to laugh, to have better memories; memories that don't consist of me hurting her. I want what's best for her and in order for me to do that, I need to let her out of my world and allow her to build her own without me. If I can't give her the world then I want someone else to. I want someone to give her the attention and love I failed miserably at giving her so that she never feels sad again.

My fist pounds through the thick glass, shattering off it's frame and all over my floor. I would stop and think about what I'm doing to maybe try and convince myself to stop, or even fool myself into believing that she will in fact come back to me but this time, I really fucked it up.

I'm out of cigarettes and I'm so damn frustrated with the mess of my closet because I can't find the fucking Whiskey. I rummage through it, gun between my legs as I knock everything my mum neatly put on my shelves down onto the floor and I spot it. I twist the cap off and hold the gun in my hand and the drink in my other. If Alee were here, she'd go mad. She'd break the bottle against the ground and scold me telling me how insane I am and how she can't live without me if I do something like this.

Fucked up thing is, she isn't here. And what's even more fucked up is that I'm the fault.

I back out of the closet and close my eyes to somehow push the image of her back in but no matter how hard I'm trying, she isn't coming up. She isn't invading my brain and ghosting through it telling me to stop, she's gone.

The cuts and gashes on my body makes the pain more addicting and I love it. I love the stings and sores, I love the insane pain it's giving me and in all honesty, I don't want it to stop.

I throw my dizzy head back and consume all of the poison so that it numbs the pain, just in case this bullet does go through my head. Funny thing is, I have always feared death. I've always ran from it, trying to get myself out of any situation leading up to it. I never wanted to end up like my father; drug addict and alcoholic who was murdered because he couldn't pay a due. That's another shit I never told Alee. Maybe I'll explain it to her in her dreams.

I can already feel my body shutting down as the bottle marks half way empty but I can't stop. It's so good.

"Harry!"